


I won't show my face here anymore.

by kenwayallgetalong



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: AU, F/M, Harry lives AU, Immortal Harry, Post-Uncharted 2/3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6776122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenwayallgetalong/pseuds/kenwayallgetalong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could've gone another way for Harry Flynn. Set during Among Thieves/post Drake's Deception. Title and inspiration taken from These Streets by Bastille.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I won't show my face here anymore.

He looks at the grenade he’s been holding tightly in his hand, the pin digging into his palm, blood smeared on it. He hears voices approaching, and he decides. He’s tired of being a fucking pawn.

If he dies, he’ll die on his own terms, and not because Lazarevic stabbed him in the back and played on his desire for revenge. The voices draw nearer. He makes a choice, and flings the grenade off the edge of the temple.

The explosion rocks the foundations, and he hears Nate curse. They run to the column, and Harry Flynn falls from behind it in front of them, the pain in his chest barely registering. The feet stop abruptly.

“Oh, Harry.” He hears. Chloe. He feels hands on his side, turning him over, then a sharp hiss of breath.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” he laughs darkly.

“Harry…” Nate begins.

“Don’t sugarcoat it mate, it’s bad enough already.”

He looks up at the bastard he tried to kill, who’s looking down at him with something like pity in his eyes. Chloe and another woman stand back warily.

“He went down there.” Harry points, waving his hand at the stairs down to the temple. “That’s where it is. That’s were the power is.”

Nate sets his jaw, and looks grimly down the stairs. “Alright.” He decides. “Chloe, Elena-“ Ah. That’s Elena. He’d heard him talk about her a few times.

“You take Harry, take him back to Tenzin. He can fix him up.” Oh Nate. Always trying to play the bloody hero despite what he claims. Harry coughs, feeling blood gurgle in his throat, and knows he doesn’t have long.

“Fuck that Nate. I don’t have long, and I’m not spending what I have left dragging my arse through these mountains. I’m seeing this through.”

“Dammit Harry-“

“What?” he interrupts. “It isn’t worth dying over? Bit bloody late for that, sorry. Now let’s get down there and finish the bastard off.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chloe carries him, his arm slung across her shoulders, his side pressed against hers.

He needs to speak. Say something.

What the hell are you meant to say to the woman you love when she hates your guts?

“For what it’s worth-“ he begins.

“Don’t fucking start.” She snaps at him, cutting him off. “You’re not pouring your heart out to me and making me feel sorry for you. We’re killing Lazarevic, getting out of Nepal, then I don’t want to see your bloody face again.”

Harry shuts up.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chloe dumps him against a fallen pillar, scooping up an assault rifle, and begins spraying bullets down into the floor below, while Lazarevic storms after Elena and Nate, who sprint for all they’re worth from him.They pick him off, chipping away at him, shooting the sap bubbles when he gets near. She’s just covering fire when things get too hot.

Harry lies at her feet, looking at the pool of sap. He saw what that stuff did for Lazarevic.

He’s not fucking dying today.

He lets Chloe reload, then as she stands up to start firing again; he rolls off the column and falls to the floor below. He feels a numb shock. That’s bad. If that fall didn’t kill him, he’ll be dead very soon.

He crawls over to the sap, a white-hot knife digging into his chest with every movement.

“Harry!” Chloe yells, but he ignores her.

He crawls up to the pool, and without a moment’s consideration, shoves his hand in, drawing the thick, viscous blue liquid to his mouth.

God, it tastes fucking rank.

He forces himself to swallow it, and cries out as he feels it rush into his veins, and it tastes oh so different.

It tastes like the first time he kissed Chloe, his first successful theft.

He feels the emptiness, that giddiness that appears in his stomach during a theft.

It tastes like a beer and a cigarette with Nate after a successful job, like laughter, like adrenaline, like fear.

It tastes like life.

He rolls onto his back, and gasps as he feels his chest knit back together, muscles and sinew growing back together to force the bullet out of his chest.

Within a minute he’s scooping up a gun and sprinting after Lazarevic, spraying bullets as he goes.

“Flynn!” Lazarevic yells as he sees him coming, sounding almost gleeful, the maniac.

“Bastard!” Harry curses under his breath, sprinting away, changing clips as he runs. He drops into cover and finds himself next to Elena, who’s busy reloading her pistol.

“Where’s your boyfriend, sweetheart?” he asks, cocking his rifle. She scowls at him, then vaults over the pillar they’re hiding behind and sprints back into the fray. Despite himself, Harry almost laughs.

“I can see why he likes you.” He huffs, then follows her.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stand over Lazarevic as he kneels next to the pool of sap, arms slumped by his sides, broken. Elena hangs back, hand pressed to a gash in her arm while Nate stalks forward, rifle up. Harry follows.

Lazarevic looks up, and the bastard laughs in their faces.

“What are you both trying to prove? Both of you, lost souls, incapable of taking that final step, incomprehensible of the power surrounding you!”

He screams, gesturing at their surroundings, the ruined temple, the glowing blue sap. The power.

Harry feels it, a deep thrum, pulsating deep within the temple. His ears catch something. His hearing's been better since drinking the sap, crystal clear. He hears every twitch of the temple.

Nate moves to step forward, and Harry lays a hand on his arm.

“’S not worth it, mate.” He slurs. Nate looks at him, incomprehending.

“Save the bullet. ‘Sides,” he nods. “They might have something to say about it.” Nate follows his head, and sees the Guardians climbing down.

Lazarevic tips his head back and laughs. “You don’t have the will.” He smiles, spreading his arms wide. “Nah mate.” Flynn manages, looking over his shoulder as they limp back towards Chloe.

“We’ve just got decent sense.” Lazarevic stares at Harry, hate burning in his eyes, then moves onto one knee to stand. He never makes it, as the first Guardian tackles him from behind with a roar. Harry turns away, and grabs Nate’s outstretched hand, pulling him up out of the pit.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The temple collapses behind them as they climb out, ancient stones crumbling in, shutting out the yells of the Guardians and Lazarevic’s screams. They limp up the stairs and across the bridge in silence, ready to shut this place up behind them for good.

Chloe leads the way, walking briskly on, staring straight ahead.

Harry follows slightly behind her, hands jammed in his jacket pockets.

Nate and Elena straggle behind, talking quietly, though he can make out most of the words.

It’s weird. He’s been deaf in his left ear for five years now, but he can hear perfectly, like regaining control of a bound limb.

He rolls up his sleeve, trying to find the jagged stab wounds and messy stitching job Nate had botched from their job in St Petersburg two years ago, but only finds smooth, flawless skin.

He rotates his ankle carefully, used to feel the grinding bone from his fall last year, but nothing.

All his old wounds, gone. He feels strangely sad, like he’s lost a piece of himself.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They make it back to the courtyard, bodies sprawled out in the dirt. “You carved a hell of a path, mate.” Harry quips, glancing over at Nate, who barely acknowledges him, instead searching the soldiers for keys. Chloe and Elena are near the gate, trying to find a way to unblock it.

Harry fiddles in his pocket for a moment, then withdraws his hand and chucks a set of keys to Nate. Nate fumbles and catches them, bewildered.

“What’s this?” he asks. “My keys.” Harry replies shortly, nodding his head at his miraculously untouched Jeep. “I’ll take one of these deathtraps.” He says, pulling out a spare set of keys and heading for one of the larger trucks.

“Hey, Flynn-“ Nate begins, moving to stop him. Harry waves him off. “Save it mate.” “No, listen.” Nate says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Harry stop and look at him.

“You were waiting there with a grenade.” He says. It’s not a question. “Were you gonna use it?” Nate asks, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Let’s just be thankful I didn’t, eh?” Harry shrugs.

A long silence stretches out between them, Nate staring at Harry with fury in his eyes. He walks over and pulls Harry’s pistol out of his holster, takes out the magazine, and chucks them both over the side of the mountain.

“Right now, I just wanna leave this place behind.” Nate says, his voice trembling with anger. “But if I see you again, I don’t care how many bullets it takes.” Harry stares back, slightly awed. He’s known Nate for a long time, and has never heard this kind of anger from him.

“Look after yourself, mate. And that girl too.” Nate glances wistfully over at Elena. Harry knows that look. He knows Nate loves her. “Tell Chloe I’m sorry.” He says, turning to climb into the truck.

“Tell her yourself.” She says. She’s leaning against one of the trucks, arms crossed. “I’ll see you around, Chloe.” He says, waving vaguely. Chloe pushes off the trucks and walks over to him, looking up at him, then reaches up and kisses him on the cheek.

“See you around.” She echoes, walking back to join Nate and Elena in the Jeep. Harry raises his hands slightly to his cheek, disbelieving, then shakes his head and pulls himself up into the truck. He watches them drive by, Chloe in the driver’s seat, Nate and Elena slumped in the back. He swallows around a hard lump in his throat and starts the engine.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time passes quickly after that.

Lazarevic, for all his, well, madness, didn’t skimp on the pay, and he had a fair bit of cash to burn.

He threw himself back into thieving, back into the only real life he knew, though he stayed as far away from Miami and Australia as the jobs allowed him, and if an old contact so much as mentioned Nate or Chloe, he was out of the room before they’d finished telling him about the job.

He just said they’d fallen out and left it at that. Few people could understand the scope of _nearly-killed-him-but-had-a-change-of-heart-and-now-i’m-immortal._ Not that he’d tell them.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He begins taking riskier jobs. Jobs he otherwise would’ve backed down from because they were in a risky area, or he didn’t trust the other people working them. What did he have to lose?

He didn’t really question why, he just leapt to it, not questioning himself.

Sprinting through war-torn countries to grab some ancient artifact. Working with people he wouldn’t trust with a bent spoon, let alone to watch his back.

It’s not until he’s escorted a set of ancient Syrian sabers into Moscow, when he realises why he keeps doing this.

Unfortunately, that’s only _after_ his client signalled to two burly Russian men, and pulled a knife on him.

Hiding out in a dumpster in Moscow, he finally realises.

He’s lost that danger he loved so much. The way his stomach dropped out from beneath him when he’s creeping around a museum, knowing he was a hairsbreadth away from being chucked in jail and left to rot.

The way his blood pulsed hard and hot in his body when bullets were flying and his adrenaline was through the roof.

He can’t be afraid of anything anymore.

The realisation jolts him, and he can’t shake the unwanted feeling every time he takes a bullet and feels nothing but a vague prod.

One upside is the pay, as, just as potential employers will pay well for a good driver, they’ll pay even better for an unstoppable thief.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s on one such job in New Zealand, sitting in a bar in Auckland in late October. He idly flicks through one of the files his client sent him, then tosses it down on the table and reaches for his beer.

The door swings shut as a pair of new arrivals staggers in, laughing at some private joke.

“He didn’t.” the man says, his British accent evident around his laughter.

“Oh yeah,” the woman laughs. “Trousers and everything.” The man grins, and claps a hand on her shoulder. “What you drinkin’, Bright Eyes?”

‘Bright Eyes’ laughs, and responds: “Whiskey, neat.”

Harry observes this all carefully, sure he recognises them from somewhere.

Then the woman turns, and he feels something he hasn’t felt in years.

Fear.

It’s Chloe.

And he feels his entire world spin.

Different hair cut, a bit older, and slightly more…domestic?

No, that doesn’t suit her, but he’s not sure what’s different about her.

Rooted.

That’s it. She’s not racing across the world anymore. While he’s still struck by this realization, Chloe falls into a chair, then looks up, and sees the stranger staring at her.

Words of sharp reproach die on her lips as the realisation dawns on her, her face lighting up. “Harry?” she breathes.

God, if he hadn’t imagined this moment a thousand times. That they’d bump back into each other and fall into each others arms and forget Nepal, forget Lazarevic, forget Shambhala and the whole goddamned fucking business.

But she slowly gets up and slips into the booth he’s in. Okay, maybe she hasn’t forgotten. But she hasn’t bolted or pulled a gun. That’s something.

“Hey Chloe.” He smiles, a warm, genuine smile that almost hurts his face he hasn’t used it in so long. The guy Chloe was with appears at her side.

“You making friends already?” he asks, placing her whiskey down and dropping into the seat beside her, a beer in his hand. He nods to Harry.

“Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.” He says, extending his hand across the table. “Charlie Cutter.”

“Charlie you knob.” Chloe says, snagging her glass and thumping him on the shoulder. “It’s Harry.” She laughs.

The same realisation dawns on Charlie’s face, and he laughs too as Harry shakes his hand, smiling all the while.

“God, haven’t seen you in a while.” Charlie laughs. “Where the hell you been?” Chloe asks, casually throwing her arm around Charlie’s shoulders and sipping her whiskey.

“Here and there.” Harry says non-comittally. He doesn’t miss the matching rings on their fingers, and he smiles honestly at that. They’re both good people. They both deserve each other.

“How’s the best driver in the business?” he asks. Chloe laughs, fluttering her eyelashes. “Jobs keep cropping up left and right. You stopped frosting your tips.” She says, nodding to his hair.

“Yeah.” Harry admits self-consciously, his hand smoothing it back. “I outgrew it.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed.” She responds. “You don’t look any older.” She says pointedly, asking another question with her eyes. _You alright?_

“Time’s been good to me.” Harry shrugs, responding in suit. _Been better._

He reaches for a subject change, and sees it as he glances at her ears.

“And you _finally_ pierced your ears.” He says, leaning forward to see if they’re clip ons.

“Oh no.” she says, as Charlie roars with laughter. “Too bloody right, eh?” he grins. “I swear, the amount of earrings I had to bloody return.” He shakes his head. “Cost me a bloody fortune.”

“How’s Nate?” Harry blurts suddenly. “Haven’t seen him in a while.” Chloe and Charlie look at each other, and smile.

“He’s been alright.” She nods. “Bit rough at times.” She avoids his gaze. “You met Elena?” Charlie asks. Harry casts his memory back five years, and remembers the spunky reporter Nate had risked it all for. “Yeah.” Harry nods. “Why?”

Charlie grins. “They got married.”

“Nate?” Harry says, incredulous. “Bloody hell.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair and taking a long drink. “Didn’t see that one coming.” He admits.

“Neither did Nate.” Chloe says, as Charlie produces his phone and shows him a picture of the two. God, it’s like a punch to the gut seeing them again. They’re standing, arms round each other, Nate just staring at Elena in awe while Elena smiles.

He looks older, bit greyer around the temples, definitely. And he’s lost his ring too.

“How are they?” Harry asks. “They’re good.” Chloe smiles. “Nate retired.” Harry’s jaw drops. “You what?” he asks.

“Yeah.” She grins. “Arsehole finally realised he’s got a death wish and got out of the bloody job.”

Harry thinks back on the friend he knew, the man he risked life and limb with, laughed with, fought with, and tried to kill. “Yeah.” He smiles. “Good for him.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They end up in an all-night burger joint, when the bar eventually closes and turfs them out.

“It’s late.” Charlie yawns, checking his watch. “I’ll get us a cab?” he asks. Chloe nods, and leans back in her chair as Charlie goes outside to hail a cab.

“So,” she asks, trying to be casual. “How’s immortality?” Harry shrugs. “It’s…different.” He says.

“The job’s not as dangerous anymore.” “But you miss it.” She says. He nods.

“God, I don’t know Chloe, you think being able to shrug off bullets would make it easier, but it’s too easy now. Feels like I’m playing with the little kids.” He admits. “It’s not the same.”

Charlie reappears beside them. “Cab’s here.” He says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “You need a lift?” he asks. Harry waves him off. “Nah, I’m not far from here.” Charlie looks at him, and Harry realises he knows everything. And he’s so, _so_ thankful that he said nothing.

“Good to see you again.” Harry says, extending his hand, and Charlie just scoffs and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Look after yourself mate.”

Chloe gets up, and hugs him gently. “See you around.” She says, kissing him gently on the cheek, and slipping something into his jacket pocket. He watches them both walk out into the night, and climb into the waiting cab.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s not until he gets back to his hotel room that night when he pulls the card out of his pocket, and finds her name scribbled down next to a message.

_Bad at keeping phones together. C._

And below it, two email addresses.

One’s hers.

The other’s Nate’s.

He flips open his laptop and types them both in, saving them to his email.

He _almost_ emails Chloe asking if her and Charlie want to meet again tomorrow, but he knows he’s got a plane ticket to Thailand in a few hours, and deep down, he also knows he’s got no right to.

Instead, he taps out a quick email to Nate.

_Nate,_

_Chloe gave me this before you get mad-ran into her and Charlie in Auckland. They told me about you and Elena. And about you getting out of the game. Well done on both parts there mate. I know we can’t see each other again, and if you don’t want me to talk to you I’ll understand. But just wanted to drop you a line and say hello. Good luc_ k _with Elena._

_Flynn_

He glances over it, and presses send before he can bottle it. He packs his stuff up and calls a cab, heading for the airport.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s walking across the tarmac to the plane, his bag in his hand.

Even flying, which he used to hate, has become a vague annoyance.

He climbs up the waiting steps to the plane, and glances back at the city visible in the distance, lights twinkling in the night sky. He half-smiles to himself, then climbs into the plane.


End file.
